


Late Nights, Early Mornings

by merildis



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 10:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9380582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merildis/pseuds/merildis
Summary: David isn't in bed when Hal wakes up.(Written for Snotweek 2017 day 4: 'Recovery")





	

Hal is cold when he wakes up. His mind is fuzzy, thoughts hazy like he’s thinking through TV static. Something is off, and it takes him a moment to realize that he should _not_ feel cold, not when Dave had fallen asleep next to him. David, he realizes suddenly, is definitely not in bed. Hal bolts upright, groping for his glasses on the bedside table and clicking the lamp on. The motel room is small, small enough that Hal would have seen him immediately had Dave been here, but there's no sign of him in the dingy armchair next to the window or anywhere else. Panic settles low in his stomach.

The door to the bathroom is open, and the room is dark, so Hal knows he can't be in there. He turns toward the motel door then, and pauses to wonder if he should bring the handgun Dave insists he keeps in his backpack. After imagining himself having to explain why he's standing outside in nothing but a borrowed tee shirt and ill-fitting sweatpants holding a loaded gun, however, he decides it may be more trouble than it's worth. Instead, he slides on his shoes (Dave’s aren't where he left them, he notes) and slowly pushes open the door.

Hal feels every muscle in his body relax when he sees David leaning against the railing of the motel walkway, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. His leather jacket is slung over his shoulders, and while Hal can't see his hands, he can smell the cigarette smoke on the air and knows he must be holding one. Dave, however, doesn't turn around, even when Hal closes the door with a _click_ behind him. “Dave?” his voice is soft, tentative. When Dave doesn't respond, he reaches out, laying his hand on his shoulder.

David pivots faster than Hal can react, throwing his hand off his shoulder and facing him down with wild eyes, all adrenaline and panic and muscle coiled beneath taut skin. “Don't-“ he falters before he manages to snarl the rest of the sentence. Hal has recoiled, backed himself against the door, and now he’s staring dumbstruck and frightened.

“Sorry,” his voice is small, frail, “sorry, sorry- I- I didn't mean-“ Hal stumbles over his words, eyes frantically trying to find anything that isn’t David’s face. This isn’t the first time David has panicked on him and snapped at him, but he still can’t help feeling like he’s fucked up, like somehow all of this is his fault, like he should have minded his own business and left well enough alone.

Hal hears more than sees Dave deflate, the fight-or-flight response draining from his system. “Hal,” he murmurs, and he sounds _tired._ Hal risks a glance up at him; there’s still a cigarette in his right hand, but the other is hovering inches from Hal’s shoulder. When Hal doesn’t move, he lets it fall to his side limply. “Sorry.” Now it’s Dave’s turn to avoid Hal’s eyes.

Hal lets out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. “No, no,” he reaches out, fingers almost touching Dave’s before falling back again. “I just… nightmares again?”

David nods. “Yeah,” he takes another drag on his cigarette and makes sure not to blow smoke in Hal’s face. Hal coughs anyway. “I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he says, and his voice is far too small. Hal’s chest aches.

This time, Hal lets his fingers catch David’s. “It’s alright, Dave.” David grabs his hand like it’s a lifeline, holds on like it’s the only thing keeping him from drowning. “What did you dream about?”

 “You know,” David shrugs, casual gesture belying the tension in every line of his body, “guns, killing people, other useless shit.”

“Dave,” Hal sighs. There are words left unsaid, a thousand things Hal knows David hears without him saying them.

David sighs, looks away, takes another drag on his cigarette. Hal is about to open his mouth to speak when David finally answers. “I know, I know,” he lets go of Hal’s hand and drags his own back through thick brown hair before he turns back to the railing, leaning out over the parking lot below. “We said we’d talk about this shit when it happens.”

Hal stands against the railing with him, shoulder-to-shoulder. “You could have woken me up,” he says. Dave’s jacket smells like gasoline and cigarette smoke and cheap cologne and _home_ , the closest thing to home they have when they’ve lived so long on the road, and he finds himself leaning into him just a little more than he meant to.

Dave looks at him and cracks a smile, tired as it is. “You looked too cute to disturb,” he laughs, but it’s a hollow, tenuous peace. Hal rolls his eyes, bumps David with his shoulder. They fall quiet for a moment, watching a pair of headlights roll down the long, dark stretch of highway outside the shabby old motel.

“Outer Heaven,” Dave says finally, “and Zanzibar… Everything, really.” He drags his hand back through his hair. He’s never been good at this, and Hal knows it. It’s always been hard for David to just _talk,_ especially about himself, and _especially_ about things like this, so Hal stays quiet, listening.

It takes David a moment before he continues. “It’s always… different, but it doesn’t really stop, you know?” Hal just nods, clumsy fingers finding Dave’s on the railing and tangling with them. “It’s kinda funny,” David laughs, a rough, hoarse sound, “Big Boss told me it’d never go away. Guess I didn’t really believe him.”

Hal’s thumb rubs steady circles on the back of Dave’s hand, warm in the early spring chill. “It’s never that easy,” Hal says, somber and quiet. He knows from experience. Recovery isn’t something that comes easy to either of them.

“The killing, it’s… not as hard as you’d think,” David continues. “Not at first,” he takes a shuddering breath and Hal squeezes his hand, watching as David raises his cigarette to his lips again. The smoke makes Hal cough. Downstairs, they hear a set of footsteps on the concrete and both of them pause, waiting until they hear the creak of a door opening and shutting before David continues. “But it doesn’t leave you.” He looks at Hal then, and something in the intensity of his gaze makes Hal bite his lip. “I’ve killed a lot of people, Hal,” his voice is low. “I’m fucked up. You deserve better.”

“David,” Hal’s chest aches, “come on, you know that’s not true.” He reaches up, fingers soft, tentative on Dave’s cheek, turning his head and looking him in the eyes. “I love you.” The words hang in the cool air. Dave just looks at him, eyes almost unfocused, shaking under Hal’s gentle touch. “Besides,” Hal smiles awkwardly, “that’s my line.”

That seems to bring David back to earth, if only a little. He laughs, leans in close enough for their foreheads to touch. “Love you, too,” he breathes, and turns his head to press a kiss to Hal’s palm.

Hal brushes a stray bit of hair back from Dave’s face before he lets his hand fall back to his side. He smiles and Dave smiles back. “Thanks for talking to me about this.”

Dave drops his cigarette to the ground and stubs it out with the toe of his boot. “Thanks for letting me ramble,” he says in response, wrapping his arm around Hal’s waist and leaning in to kiss him, other hand tangling in his hair. Hal’s breathless, sighing into his mouth, swept away.

“So,” Dave says when they pull back, “did you bring the key?”

Hal looks at him in disbelief. “I thought you’d have one!”

Dave gives him a shrug and a toothy grin. “Thought you’d let me back in in the morning.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Mm, but I seem to recall you saying you loved me a few minutes ago, so I think that gets me a free pass.”

Hal rolls his eyes. “Well, you’ll be losing that free pass in a minute if you don’t get to work picking that lock. It’s cold out here.”

Dave shrugs out of his coat and slings it over Hal’s shoulders with a kiss to his forehead. “Alright, alright, I’ll get it.”

Hal settles onto the ground next to the door. “You better.” David gives him his goofy, lopsided grin, and they both laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Other pieces for snotweek 2017 can also be found on my [tumblr](http://metalgearraiden.tumblr.com/tagged/mine)!


End file.
